Портрет художника в юности

           Hewashappyandfree;buthewouldnotbeanywayproudwithFatherDolan.Hewouldbeveryquietandobedient:andhewishedthathecoulddosomethingkindforhimtoshowhimthathewasnotproud.

           Theairwassoftandgreyandmildandeveningwascoming.Therewasthesmellofeveningintheair,thesmellofthefieldsinthecountrywheretheydiggedupturnipstopeelthemandeatthemwhentheywentoutforawalktoMajorBarton’s,thesmelltherewasinthelittlewoodbeyondthepavilionwherethegallnutswere.

           Thefellowswerepractisinglongshiesandbowlinglobsandslowtwisters.Inthesoftgreysilencehecouldhearthebumpoftheballs:andfromhereandfromtherethroughthequietairthesoundofthecricketbats:pick,pack,pock,puck:likedropsofwaterinafountainfallingsoftlyinthebrimmingbowl.